


of course, of course

by somuchtolearn



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Reality, Angst, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, First Time, Future X Factor, Its a Thing, M/M, Near Future, Parallel Universe, Post-Band, Reality, The X Factor, Tomlinshaw (friendship), time-span, txf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:25:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2611691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somuchtolearn/pseuds/somuchtolearn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is everywhere and Louis just can't.</p><p>Until he can.</p><p>---</p><p>Spanning 2014 to 2018+</p>
            </blockquote>





	of course, of course

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously this is entirely made up and I own nothing and no one and I don't know where I got any of this.
> 
> \---
> 
> So I've come back to this fic after a long hiatus (please forgive the word choice there).
> 
> I began writing before some of the major changes that took place at the end of last year - Zayn leaving, the hiatus announcement, babygate in all of its glory - and, as it's based in reality, my inspiration to continue writing really began to flag.
> 
> I came back to it for one reason - AO3 users like myownspark, Likeyoudcare, and ChocoBunny, whose comments and encouragement made it feel safe and fun and worthwhile again. Thank you, truly.
> 
> For those of you who started this fic with me last year, the format has changed quite a bit: it will now be in two parts/chapters. The first chapter is up now, and contains around 4k more words at the end then the last update. I've also done a good bit of editing to the previous scenes, so please bear that in mind if you're picking this back up! The second chapter will definitely be completed and posted this week.
> 
> Unfortunately ALL of the beautiful comments were also deleted when I changed the chapter format, but I actually screenshot them so that I could keep them - so thanks to everyone who had previously commented!
> 
> Apologies for the long-winded explanation. This is for fic readers who make writing a deeper, more fulfilling experience, and for Louis and Harry.
> 
> All the love x

2014

 

It was quiet when he woke. He was still tired, and the cold, white light filtering in and spreading diagonally across the sheets made him feel like glass—brittle, resistant, transparent.

Louis tried to clear his mind, observing how easy it was just to lie still. As soon as the thought surfaced, he had to tighten his fingers against a tremor, stiffening his limbs and clenching his teeth with the effort. It was uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as remembering.

And then of course that’s just what he was doing. Remembering. Remembering the full-body hum of anticipation right before Harry’s mouth shaped the words he knew were coming—how he’d felt like he was moving in deep water as Harry had watched him. Remembering the way Harry’s face had shifted when Louis had had no words for him, for what he’d laid bare, for what he’d offered into the electric, crucial, silent space between them.

Louis closed his eyes against it, but he could see him, as he could always see him, 16 again, laughing, reaching out for contact and Louis reacting before either of them realized it, always meeting him halfway. Not now, though. Not for a long time—so long that the effort to quell those unconscious touches had become muscle memory, had become an impulse in and of itself, like they were the wrong ends of two magnets, repelling each other, painfully hyper-aware.

“Fuck,” Louis said out loud, just as the sound of dishes clinking downstairs broke into his thoughts.

Louis shook his head, feeling a bit insane, thinking he could hear Harry’s laugh as well.

“Oy!” Zayn’s voice punctuated the sound, a definite yell. “Get up darling, we’ve got rehearsal like, ten minutes ago apparently.”

A deeper voice murmured something, followed by that laugh, again.

Shit. Louis flexed his fingers against his thighs beneath the blanket. So. Here we go.

A set of feet came trotting up the steps. Louis groaned and sat up, pushing the back of his hand across his mouth.

Turning the corner into the bedroom and hooking one hand onto the doorframe, Zayn stopped short, adding, “Whoa. Lookin’ a bit off mate, you alright?”

No. Fuck no.

“Yeah bro,” Louis replied, surprising himself with how casual his voice sounded. “Be just a minute then.”

“Excellent, well, Harry’s got tea on downstairs, don’t fuck around for too long, band’s already there.”

Louis nodded and pressed his mouth into a clownish grin, lips rolled under. “Thanks mum, got it.”

With a quick eye-roll and a one-finger salute, Zayn stepped back out.

Right. Louis flung the sheets off and drew a long breath, thinking he should really keep his doors locked. Right, let’s go.

 

\---

 

The beginning of the rehearsal wasn’t too bad, other than that it felt like he was getting doused with ice-cold water when he first caught sight of Harry, looking tired but animated talking to Josh, as everyone got situated around the studio space.

When he’d come downstairs back at his flat that morning, feeling like something solid was lodged against the back of his throat, it had only been Zayn waiting for him. Harry had apparently decided to drive himself rather than wait around, which, well, that was fine.

It still took Louis two cups of tea before he could swallow properly. Zayn gave him the side-eye in the car before deciding to let Louis tell him what was bothering him on his own terms and headed off to the warm-up room to work on his riffs as soon as they arrived.

Niall and Liam hailed him over to have a look at the edits to some of the new lyrics, and if he could feel Harry’s gaze tracking him across the room, he forced himself to ignore it.

As the session progressed, the five of them fell fairly easily into themselves, messing about with the musicians, high-fiving on some absolutely abysmal puns and generally making some good progress on the actual songs. Louis let the tension in his neck slowly ease and even allowed himself a couple light exchanges with Harry, who covered his initial surprise well, and almost managed to hide the brooding expression that followed entirely.

Standing in the alley outside the back door of the studio on their last break, Louis had actually begun to feel a bit like things would be able to settle out on their own, and he and Harry would be able to pick back up their routine of public distance and private cordiality, given a few days’ time. That was habitual now, easier, and he could handle that.

Just as he was rolling the last of his cigarette between his fingers and looking around for the ashtray, the door behind him pulled open, a cold gust of air brushing by him and swirling into the entrance.

“Hey,” Harry said, after a moment’s pause, moving to the wall beside him and leaning back against the brick.

Right away, Louis felt the familiar tingle that years of being in close proximity to Harry had not managed to diminish in the least. Harry’s coat was a deep, textured gray, like it had once been black, and the high wool collar angled down at precisely the line of his jaw, a few longer strands of hair moving over it’s edge in the slight wind.

In profile, his eyes toward the sky, Harry looked like art. That is, until the twitching at the corner of his mouth ruined the effect. Louis sighed.

“Hey man,” said Louis, immediately hearing how false the greeting sounded, immediately regretting it.

Harry’s eyes didn’t move from their distant focal point, but his shoulders shifted perceptibly downward against the wall. Louis looked away, waiting.

“I, um, I was really stupid yesterday. I know where, you know, where you’re at and I was just like, caught up, and just… um, sorry Lou, for, putting you in that position. I feel a bit silly, really.” As Harry paused, Louis chanced a glance at him.

He wished he hadn’t. Harry’s mouth was twisted in a kind of grimace, like he was trying for a smile but it got caught on something halfway there. Louis’ arm shot out in reflex, a jerky motion, like he was trying to move both toward him and away from him at once. Gritting his teeth, he lowered his hand to the wall at Harry’s side. It was cold, but rather comfortingly rough beneath his fingers.

“Mate,” Louis tried, before doubling down and saying, more forcefully, “Harry. Please don’t. We’re fine, I just, you know we’ve just like, the band is doing so well and there’s all this change happening and, I don’t think you know what you’re saying you know—“

Harry cut him off with an urgent sound, pulling off the wall and turning to face him so quickly that Louis took an unsteady step back.

“I knew exactly what I was saying then, and I know exactly what I am saying now. Feel about it whatever way you like, but when I speak to you, whatever it is I’m saying, I ALWAYS mean it. It’s always been that way for us, don’t…” Harry trailed off and suddenly he seemed deflated, weary.

Silence stretched between them as Harry slowly leaned a shoulder back into the wall, his eyes now somewhere to the left of Louis’ ankle, nearly closed, lashes stark against his skin. He sighed and shook his head. Louis waited. It was the only thing he felt capable of doing, really.

After some time—a minute, maybe a few minutes—Harry finally cleared his throat and offered, “You know, maybe you’re right.”

The wind tapped at his collar and he pulled the corner of it to his cheek, looking thoughtful.

Another expression, one Louis couldn’t quite catch, passed over his features.

“But, anyway um, you sounded really lovely on the new songs today. Let’s get this thing done, yeah? I’m good,” he added, standing straighter. He seemed to be gathering himself, arranging his face and hands. “Just had a weird fucking day yesterday, sorry. You good?”

Feeling slightly wrong-footed at the abrupt change of tone, Louis simply nodded.

“Yeah, of course, of course, I’m a bit off m’self, no worries mate.”

A brief smile touched Harry’s eyes as he pulled open the door before ducking his head and gesturing within. “After you.”

Louis looked at him, wanting to say something, but he still didn’t have the words, not now, not when Harry needed them, and so he tipped an imaginary hat to him as he passed, hating himself, and wondering how things had gotten so fucked up.

 

\---

 

Louis stepped inside his flat and closed the door behind him, dropping his keys and rucksack in the foyer before sliding down into a crouch, one hand over his eyes. He stayed there for a moment, taking a perverse pleasure in the uncomfortable ache in his knees before reaching behind him to lay full-length on his back on the cool hardwood of the hallway floor.

Had it just been yesterday? It felt longer, somehow, like years had passed since that moment – years during which he’d somehow grown old and quietly separated from the person he’d been, the people he’d known. How could those handful of words create such distance, he wondered, knowing the truth of it in spite of himself.

Harry. It all came back to Harry. It always had. He thought it might, always. It might always come back to him.

It wasn’t that Harry had been wrong, was the thing. It was, if he allowed himself to think it, that he might have been so, so, right, and it was scary. It was more than scary – it made Louis feel like everything was in flux, or that everything was hanging in the air, like that slow-motion moment right after a car crash, where the tiny pieces of glass are starting to separate from each other and the faces of the people inside the cars have just begun to register the impact.

Louis was terrified.

Despite living a life that was predictably unpredictable at best and wildly unsettling at worst, Louis was smart and savvy, and he could usually see what was coming. He took great comfort in that.  But this change, this gigantic emotional upheaval brought on by Harry’s chaste, quiet words left him blind.  He could not see the next steps, he could not see where they might take him, he could not see it, and he was afraid.

He groaned and rubbed a hand over his mouth, finally letting himself walk back through their conversation. He needed to let himself feel it, and decide what to do about it.

 

Harry had texted him early, asking if he could stop by for a moment. Louis had said of course, of course, and then Harry was there at his door, wind whipping his hair to the left and using his shoulder to push it away from his mouth as he’d greeted him.

Louis had felt the tension in him immediately, watching him move his hands awkwardly from his coat to his sides to his hair and back to his sides, restless with his mission. And yet Louis was not prepared.

“You didn’t even bring me any breakfast?” Louis had queried, his hand on his hip. “After demanding to come over so early? Quite rude.”

Harry laughed, visibly relaxing, the toes of his boots clicking together as he hunched his shoulders apologetically.  “Well, I’ve been up for hours and anyway it’s closer to lunch than breakfast. You should really be able to provide for yourself by now,” he added with a grin.

“Never,” replied Louis hiking his chin into the air and pulling the door further open. “Get in already, it’s fucking freezing.”

They sat at the kitchen island, a vast counter between them.  Harry smiled.

Louis drummed his fingers on his thighs expectantly as Harry ran his hands through his hair a couple times and cleared his throat. Louis wasn’t sure what all the nervousness was about – after all, who could have been closer than the two of them had been? Although, obviously, he reminded himself, things had been more strained over the last few years, and much of that had been Louis’ fault, he knew.  The pressure on the two of them to act one way or another had been immense, and the only way he knew to protect himself was to pull away.  But surely Harry understood that.  Surely this wasn’t going to be a conversation about how Louis had been a dick; they were doing what they had to do for the success of the band. That’s what everyone had told them, and they had understood.  Truth be told, it had been easier for Louis to keep his distance, it had felt… less complicated that way.

“Lou,” Harry began, breaking into Louis’ thoughts, “I’m just going to come out with it.”

Louis mentally shook himself and waited.  Waiting was also less complicated.

“I don’t know exactly how you feel right now, but I know there has been a lot of pressure on us, and, on you – you in particular, on how we… are in public.” He paused.

Louis felt a chill run though him – okay, this IS going to be a ‘Louis’s a dick’ conversation – but remained silent.

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks – well, years, if I’m honest but, especially over the last few weeks I’ve just felt like I’ll lose it if I don’t say something, and… well it’s not like you probably don’t already know, but… and, well, my timing is ridiculous probably, things are insane with the band and our schedule and everything but…,” he closed his eyes hard and then looked up at the ceiling. 

“Fuck me, this is harder than I thought it was going to be.”

He swiveled his stool slightly left then right and back to the center before placing his hands flat on the counter in front of him and fixing Louis with a self-deprecating, rather hopeful smile.

“I’ve just been thinking... it just doesn’t have to be this hard. It doesn’t have to be like this at all. I…”

As Harry paused again, Louis was suddenly frozen, knowing what was coming next, knowing he didn’t want to hear it—that he couldn’t hear it, not right now, he wasn’t ready… 

Didn’t Harry know he wasn’t ready?

“I… I have these, um… God, these… these feelings for you. I have had. I, um,” he laughed breathily, as Louis felt all the air leave the room.

And then he said it.

“I love you. I love you and not in the you’re my best mate, you’re my brother kind of way, I um, - ha -, I LOVE you, like, I can’t not love you, like I can’t not think about you and,” he took a breath, his right hand trembling slightly as he exhaled. 

“I think you love me too. And I think we should talk about it.”

And then it was silent – and… Louis was stock-still; he was stone, his mouth slightly open, the back of his throat tightly closed.

And the way it felt --- it felt like the room had become a vacuum, and all the light and sound and smells and air had been sucked out, leaving Louis with a pinpoint of vision in which Harry waited for him to respond, to say anything at all. His body felt electrified, and like some enormous, invisible pressure was pushing in on him from all sides. He felt lost.

He was lost.

 

Abruptly, Louis got to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom.  He gripped the counter top with white knuckles and pushed his forehead into the mirror, hating himself, hating Harry for opening this fucking chasm in their lives, hating the path that fame and management and profit and all the other factors of this life they led had put them on. Hating himself for letting that persistent, tiny voice in his head remind him over and over and over – that Harry was right. Louis loved him.

He loved him.

“FUCK!” Louis screamed. Shards of glass leapt from the mirror and tinkled across the counter as he pulled his fist back.

“Idiot…” he reminded himself, “fucking idiot.” The spasm of frustration and self-loathing spent, he rinsed his hand in the sink and then texted his housekeeper an advance apology. He skipped his normal nighttime routine and went straight into his bedroom, feeling his way to the bed in the dark.

As he lay there, right hand aching, finally letting the extent of what this meant wash over him, the memories came back to him in flashes.

 

Harry in the bathroom, laughing, his curls literally shaking with mirth.

Harry crying backstage, feeling everything so fully in only the way sensitive sixteen-year-old boys can.

Harry, so close in the dark, the air electric between them, in some hotel room half way around the world.

Harry's hands, signaling secrets in interviews and during songs

Harry smiling, always smiling.

Harry's face as their team explained that their behavior was threatening the band, their success, their reputations [their pockets].

Harry across the stage, his eyes on Louis.

Harry across the counter, breaking into pieces in front of him.

Harry's body, the way it looked as he left that morning, like a bird that had flown into glass.

Harry.

 

When Louis finally slept, it was dreamless.

 

\---

 

2015

 

Alcohol.

Louis’ head was already swimming, but more alcohol seemed like the obvious solution.  It had been months, and he hadn’t spoken more than a few throwaway words to Harry since that cold day outside the studio.

He looked to his left; Liam was still there, looking slightly absurd with his drink held high in the air as he bounced on both feet to the house music.

The beat reverberated in the air around him, and all the noise made him feel comfortably alone, even in the press of bodies and heat.

Louis motioned for a drink and a waitress appeared instantly. Louis remembered that he probably looked like an entitled douche sitting there in their roped off VIP section, and inwardly cringed. Which didn’t prevent him from ordering a round of shots, most of which he didn’t intend to share.

He closed his eyes.

This was a bad idea.  All of it. Instead of deciding what to do about Harry’s confession (explanation? accusation?), Louis had tried the same tactic he’d been using for years – he was ignoring it.

They’d been in and out of practice sessions preparing for the next leg of the tour, and the vibe was all wrong. Everything was off, not just Harry and Louis but everyone – their vocals, their chemistry, the way they made decisions – and Louis knew he was the cause of it, and it was killing him. There was never anything in his life that he cared more about or took more seriously than this band and its success. He had made fucking sacrifices, some huge, elephantine sacrifices, and some so small and subtle as to be invisible to everyone else, but they were all there, like layers of papercuts beneath his skin, or like loss, or like something heavy that he could not put down.

He willed himself to think of something (someone) else.

“Mate.” Someone was shaking his shoulder. “Got a sec?”

Louis opened his eyes frantically to find, not Harry – why had he been expecting that – but Ed, looking at him rather grimly.

“Yeah,” Louis managed, “What’s up.”

The bar spun in throbbing colors around them.

Ed sat down heavily beside him, spreading his arms out over the back of the couch, one knee twitching rhythmically a few inches side to side.

“What the fuck.”

Louis could feel his teeth vibrate with the bass. He felt around for his pack and slowly withdrew and lit a cigarette before responding.

“Okay…”

Ed’s voice was distant, and moved toward Louis through the background noise like an arrow through water. “No, mate, not okay. Harry’s a mess.”

Louis shut his mouth, tight, his throat closing.

“And by the look on your face, you know exactly why. Thought you might,” Ed stated, casually, his eyes averting to the crowd beyond them.

Louis said nothing. He waited for Ed to continue, but he didn’t.

Shifting his weight to the side, Louis pulled out his phone.  Almost 3 am. He sighed, feeling sick, and looked over at Ed, who did not look back.

The shots arrived, something dark and straight up, and Ed sat up to take one.

“Cheers. Also, fuck you.” He drained the glass and stood up.

Louis felt small and old. He shook his head; the words didn’t matter now, he hadn’t put them together, and he certainly hadn’t given them to the one person who deserved them, and so he kept them inside his mouth, sour and all wrong.

Ed nodded, as if Louis had said something after all, and stood still for a moment before he turned away, ducking under the velvet rope and moving out into the pulsing colors until he was lost from Louis’ sight.

He rolled his head on his shoulders and took a concerted drag on his cigarette, a long column of ash trembling at the end. Louis tapped it with a forefinger and watched the filaments separate and tumble downward.

He felt as if he could see the next few years rolling out before him – a long series of concerts and press and scandals and promo… and Harry’s eyes, finding him less and less often, and fans finding less and less to feel invested in, and Louis having less to cover himself with, less to block the onslaught of doubt and guilt born of living this way, and everything slowly crumbling like ash until they were all in different places with different lives and only really stopped to remember when an old song came filtering through, maybe in some store or on the radio on the way to something entirely different.

He needed to talk to Harry; he knew this. But he had put so much into this façade, and wasn’t quite sure anymore where that mask ended and where he began.  So he would wait.

More drinks and more cigarettes and less thinking. To his left he spotted Oli waving him over, several blonde, nameless women around him, adjusting themselves and watching the eyes of passersby to see if they were being noticed. Calculating their value in glances and cat calls, snide remarks or crude offers.

Louis rose, obedient, and stepped down, stumbling only slightly, to join them.

 

\---

 

2018

 

“You’ve been having fun,” said Harry, looking carefully at no one in particular.

The boys were all gathered in a nondescript office building in L.A.  It had been nearly three years since their farewell concert, though it hadn’t been called that at the time.

Equally nondescript members of their management team ebbed and flowed around them; sheaves of paperwork seemed to slide in front of them and then away into files of their own accord.

Louis shrugged noncommittally, knowing the comment was directed at him.

“Of course.”

Niall glanced at Harry before signing the newest document in front of him and turning to Louis.

“So how are you liking X factor? You’re brilliant, I basically piss myself every time you’re up.”

Louis grinned, gratefully. “Oh god it’s fantastic, really, there is some bloody brilliant talent out there, I love it I really do. I mean we see a fair share of complete shit obviously, but it usually gets kind of exaggerated from how they actually are and what we actually say to them to what gets shown on air, you know.”

“Sounds familiar,” Harry noted, low-voiced and leaned-back in his chair.

“Does it?” Louis asked, one eyebrow cocked.

Liam shifted uncomfortably. “Listen, can I just say, it’s just so good to see you boys right now.  Soph and I have had an amazing few months like traveling around, but it feels so normal to be sat in a room with all of us again, doesn’t it. Like no time has passed at all.”

Louis, who felt quite sure that millennium had gone by since things had felt truly normal, said nothing, but the other boys all murmured their assent.

They sat in silence for a moment, each considering, perhaps, where they now found themselves, where they had come from, and, for at least one of them, what it had cost to get here.

The silence was broken by an older man striding into the room.

“Boys. Glad to have you all here – everything make sense, you have any questions your lawyers haven’t already asked or answered for you?”

Harry stood, a genuine smile on his face for once, and gave the man a handshake-turned-embrace, and exclaimed, “Irving! No, no, we’re all good here, thank you. Seriously, thank you for everything over the past couple years. You’ve been there for us more than most, we really owe you for it, all of it.”

Liam and Niall had risen as well and added their thanks. As Niall wrung his hand, Irving Azoff raised his gaze to give Louis a long, appraising, but not unkind look and then nodded once.

Louis nodded back, noting out of the corner of his eye that Harry’s smile had slipped for just a moment.

“Alright, alright, just a few things to straighten out then,“ Irving said to the group.

The boys took their seats and waited for him to continue.

“You all understand what the lifting of some of these agreements mean, correct?”

They nodded.  The many, many waivers, adjusted NDAs, additional disclosures, and a thousand other industry terms that Louis avoided thinking about had been fully articulated to them by their team of lawyers and management officials for the last several hours.

“It means we’re officially ending the commitments we have as a band and as representatives of the band and brand as such,” recited Liam. Louis elected to swiftly punch him in the arm and indicated through a series of complicated gestures that he was a brown-noser. Liam rolled his eyes.

“And,” Harry added in a quiet voice, “We now have full control over how we present ourselves to the media and the public at large.”

“Yes,” agreed Azoff, his demeanor softening almost imperceptibly, “And I’m sorry we couldn’t provide you that control sooner, but there were many things at play here, and many, many things that had to be undone from previous… let’s say business, conducted by your former team. But this is really it. You have a few contractual obligations remaining, mostly around press for a few scheduled compilation releases, but other than that, you are now four individuals who may do as they please.”

Louis put two fingers to his faded Bus 1 tattoo and held a brief moment of silence for Zayn, who had elected to leave the band more than three years prior.  He’d have to give him a ring after this and tell him they were now, all five of them, former band members.

They’d had some rough spots, but out of all of them, he and Zayn had remained fairly close, and had kept tabs on each other’s new projects. When Louis had been announced as one of the new judges on the X Factor, Zayn had sent him a clever drawing of Louis with suspiciously Simon Cowell-like features and a text bubble where he used quite a bit of profanity to tell the imaginary contestant just how miserable they were. Louis liked it quite a bit.

“…Louis?” Niall poked him in the neck, jarring him out of his thoughts.  “Whaddya think?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Do you have any questions? We’re trying to wrap it up here.”

Louis shook his head.

“Okay,” said Azoff, “I’m off to the next meeting, but I hope you will all” – his eyes lingered on Louis for a split second – “keep in touch.  I know you will all do incredibly well, and it has been an honor and a personal pleasure to work with each of you boys.” And then he was gone.

Niall whistled a long, low note on an exhale.

“Can’t believe this is it.  I mean I know we’ve been done for a while, but, it’s like, official now.”

They stood, Louis rising last, to give one another a few farewell fist bumps, when Harry, with a rather blazing look in his eyes, grabbed Liam and Niall by the sleeves, and, looking at Louis, said, “Come on now boys one last OT4 hug, come on, come on now, get in.”

Niall barked a laugh as they all pulled in to each other, with much patting of backs and ducking of heads, and potentially a few tears – Liam, PLEASE,thought Louis – before finally, finally, heading their separate ways.

 

Outside the building, Harry caught Louis’ eye and asked for a quick word.

With a small knot of apprehension in his stomach, Louis walked over to him, thinking back to the last time they had stood together, outside against a rough wall, though it had been much colder then, and much different in most other ways as well, really.

“Hey,” Harry started.  His hair was pulled back from his face in a messy bun, and he looked almost unbearably young.  Louis looked down.

“Hey man, what’s up?” he asked the ground to the left of Harry’s boot.

Harry sighed.

“You know, if this club-hopping, playboy thing is some image that you’ve been keeping up for the band, or for you in the band, or some other reason connected to this band that I can’t understand for whatever reason, this is kind of the all-clear sign, you know?  Like, you can be who you really are, because… well, I don’t think that that is who you are, and I just want you to be okay, you know. And despite the fact that I don’t have the right to really tell you that, I want you to hear it.”

Louis, taken aback by this monologue, was immediately on the defensive.

“No you don’t really have the right to tell me that, and really, you don’t know me all that well any more do you, so how about you not tell me what I should and shouldn’t be like,” he snapped, feeling a concurrent wave of regret as he said it.

“Well you haven’t really let me know you, have you,” Harry replied, no trace of malice in his tone, only the faintest tinge of some half-forgotten sadness shaping his words.  “And that’s okay.  I know that this… this falling out, that it was my fault.  I’ve known it and regretted it for years, but it is what it is. And I felt like I owed it to what we used to have between us – that trust and friendship that defined us in the beginning, I felt like I owed it to those stupid, naive kids to tell you that you should think about what you’re doing now, and who you want to be, ultimately. That’s all,” Harry shrugged. His face suddenly looked careworn, and like he had lived through years of disappointments, and Louis wondered, with detachment, how he had thought he looked so young just moments ago.

“Well.” Louis finally summoned, in answer. “Thanks, I’ll look into it.”

Harry offered a faint smile, his head tilted sideways, and then he was moving away from Louis, disappearing into the backseat of some dark car, and then he was gone.

Louis stood still on the sidewalk for several more minutes. Then he too, turned and walked away, heading back to London, back to the comfort of people who couldn’t see beneath his skin, or hand him those words that could settle like stones to carry inside of him.

 

Later, on the plane, the knowledge that he did not know the next time he would see Harry began to feel like a small itch he couldn’t quite reach, or like the slow gathering of bile at the back of his throat. But, like everything else, he pushed it aside, covered it in other things, until he could breathe.  And sleep. And move on and out and forward, without it.

 

\---

 

Back in London, Louis lay in bed, mulling things over.

He had been thrilled – ecstatic, really – when he’d been officially hired on as an X-Factor judge, after it became clear that the band’s hiatus was becoming permanent during the 2017 season.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have any sadness or regret, or a myriad of other, mixed emotions about the band coming to an end; it wasn’t that at all.  He was gutted. It had been everything - his family, his career, his entire life - nearly his entire sense of self - for over seven years. 

What it was – he would admit to no one else – was validation.  Validation that he had staying power of his own.  While he might not be cut out for a solo career the way Harry and Liam seemed to be, he was talented, and he could move out from the cloying boyband image and be successful on his own. It was validating, and it was a relief. It was, if he let it be, a way to help put to rest at least a few of those tightly-held fears he had had about his own worth since the very first moment he stood up in the glare of the lights on the X Factor stage. 

And, Louis knew, each of the boys needed that validation, that sense of security, in their own way, and the band ultimately made them too formally beholden to one another.  He loved his bandmates fiercely, but the strain of that life was breaking each of them down in small, different but steady ways.

It had, after all, been a very long road.

After the building conflict with their former management team ended in an all-out coup during which they severed ties and entered into a new management arrangement with Irving Azoff and his team, it had seemed like they might be able to carry on indefinitely, with more strategic rebranding and, crucially, more personal control over the way they were managed.

But while many things did change for the better that year, it was clear that the nature of the business itself did not, and, out of all of them, the burden of it seemed to impact Harry the most. Not that Louis spoke to him about it. But he could see it, the changes in the face that he had once known as well as his own, the effort it took to be something other than himself in nearly every waking interaction.

Louis knew something of that burden himself.

But while Harry had bravely extricated himself from it by coming out to the press, with Azoff’s and the band’s support, shortly after their last tour, Louis was still fighting a dark, internal battle.

Harry wasn’t wrong when he called him out in L.A. last week, Louis thought, kicking at the comforter until it slid off the end of the bed in a heap.

The partying, the women, the image… of course, some of it had been fun, and natural – he had friends, after all, and when there were no cameras around he could sometimes manage to really enjoy himself. But just as much of it had been uncomfortable, a responsibility, a carefully choreographed routine that left him feeling dirty and alone. Very much alone.

Once or twice, he had been very close to looking for male company, discreetly, to try and ease the ache he felt, the constant suppression of the confusing needs he felt, but he could never bring himself to follow through.  His thoughts always came back to Harry – what they had been to one another, and if maybe that might have just fucked him up for life.

Louis rolled over and dug through the bottom drawer of his nightstand, finally extracting a folded picture, nearly transparent in the center from being opened and re-creased a thousand times.

He looked at it for a long moment, lightly flicking his index finger back and forth across the side of the image.

It wasn’t that Harry had said that he loved him. And it wasn’t that Louis had loved him back.  It was that Harry saying he loved him was what made Louis realize, instantly, overwhelmingly, that he loved Harry. It was like every tiny feeling, every fleeting touch, every shared laugh or held gaze, every single moment spent with Harry up until that exact second came rushing over and into him as Harry said it, filling Louis' eyes and mouth and throat and stomach and limbs and  -- Louis couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself feel it all, he couldn't let it happen then.

And if he might have been able to now, it was far too late, and they were far too old, and Louis was far too tired.  And Harry.  Harry was just far too far away.

Folding the picture carefully, Louis put it back in place and closed the drawer, softly.

“No worries, no worries,” he told himself, rolling back to face the ceiling.

There was no use dwelling on it, on something that couldn’t be changed.  It was a very dark tunnel, and Louis was well aware of its depth already.  He needed to pull himself out and focus on this new life.   On the X Factor, and his family, and his favorite football club.  These were things that made him happy, and he could live with that. He could be okay with what he had.

 

Feeling a bit more cheerful, he sat up and pulled out his phone, intending to call Niall and see if he was up for grabbing a drink later.

 

Instead, his lungs instantly shuddered shut, as he read the text message that had just appeared on his screen.

 

\--

 

Louis closed his eyes, then squinted up at the ceiling for a long moment.

The message was still there when he looked back down.

“Nicholas fucking Grimshaw I swear to god,” Louis muttered, taking a few steadying breaths.

ready for this headline?? “Larry Stylinson reunites where it all began! Harry Styles performs live on X Factor next month!” hahahaaa but seriously mate, rita just rang to say he’s coming on the showww oii oiiiii

The follow-up message pinged in, and Louis was just recovered enough to huff an exasperated laugh:

I’ll have the tissues handy. As well as my other extensive services should you need comforting due to the proximity of your lost loooveeee xx see you sooon

Co-judging on X Factor with Nick and Rita Ora had been an interesting experience thus far, but Louis was far friendlier with Nick than he had been in previous years. He supposed he appreciated the heads up, as snarky as it was.

“Don’t get worked up,” Louis advised himself, out loud, rather solemnly. It’s not like they would have much opportunity to interact, even.  Harry was probably jetting back off to LA right after his performance anyway.  And if they did happen to chat, Louis assumed it would end up being another lecture about his public choices, which, well, it was just fucking patronizing, wasn’t it.  And hadn’t Louis just seen some write-up about Harry and an older bloke getting cozy at some impossibly cool A-lister’s impossibly cool soiree? Louis gritted his teeth.

Harry could have his Hollywood hills and his romantic interludes and his reasonably articulated diatribes on other people’s “true” selves. He could have whatever it is he wanted these days – a category into which Louis clearly hadn’t fit for quite some time. Louis was fine, he was okay – he had decided that he was perfectly okay, and that made it true. It was true. Fuck.

Rubbing his mouth, he typed out a quick response to Nick -- fuck off x -- and pulled himself slowly to his feet to get a start on the day.

 

Time seemed to move in strange lurches over the next few weeks.  He couldn’t decide if the sensation in his stomach whenever he thought of being face to face with Harry again was just residual nerves or something more insidious. He had, as he constantly reminded himself, just seen Harry in LA last month.  Except that things were unequivocally different, in the After; this would be their first meeting since dissolving the formal bond that being in the band had made them accountable to.

The connection between them, no longer prescribed, felt somehow more tenuous – or perhaps more burdened.

It was forged now solely from their shared history, their mutual experience, but also from their admittedly independent versions of what had occurred between them, and why.

The anticipation of this reunion made rather Louis contemplative; he found that he was missing larger and larger swaths of the day to brooding, and decided he was either slowly losing his mental faculties or that time really had decided to depart from its customary behavior to bring him, gleefully and all too soon, to the event that was the source of his anxiety.

Being at work was no reprieve; Louis had never before noticed how many corners of the X Factor set and studio were familiar in a way that made his skin tingle.  Had he been able to just shut it out before, or was this Harry’s old influence resettling itself around him?  Would he never escape it?

 

The week before Harry’s scheduled appearance, Ed was in town to do a guest spot, and called Louis over after they wrapped.

Grinning, he gave Louis a tight one-armed hug. Louis cringed playfully.

“Alright Sheeran, alright, you missed me, I understand, please calm down.”

“It’s good to see you, man,” Ed said, tilting his head appraisingly as he studied Louis’ face. “You okay then? Look a bit peaky.”

Louis waved both hands, palms out, replying, “I’m fucking fantastic, life is good, it’s all good, how have you been?”

“Oh you know, mucking about, playing some gigs here and there, attempting to become something of the ladies man I hear you have, if that’s even possible.”

His tone was light, teasing even, but something in the edges of his eyes spoke of pity.

Louis struggled to cover his recoil.

“Like a little old gossip, aren’t you? I’m sure you’re doing just fine,” retorted Louis, just a fraction too late.

Ed smiled and nodded, his expression changing to thoughtful as Louis began to fidget, wishing he was back at his flat, in bed, reminding himself that he was fine.

“If you ever want a chat, I’m around you know,” Ed offered.  “I know things have changed a good bit since the early days, and even though I’ve been a twat to you probably more than once, I just wanted to put that out there.”

Louis smiled – an effort.

“Thanks, man, appreciate that, yeah.”

Louis watched as Ed slung his guitar strap over one shoulder and strode off, and without his permission his mind was watching a similar scene, but in a dark, vibrating club years before, and thinking…

“PSST---“

“AHHH FUCKING SHIT -- ” Louis jumped and spun around, brushing at his ear.

Nick was right behind him, laughing hard, clutching his side. “Sorry princess I had too.  S’not healthy to be so deep in thought, were you plotting a murder in there? Or maybe a little tryst scenario with a certain someone who’s back in town next week?”

“Get off it, Nick, Jesus Christ.”

“Oh that has a nice ring to it doesn’t it. But I’ve likely done a few too many suspect things to not get struck by lightning were I to adopt it.”

Louis rolled his eyes, and turned to walk away.

“Oh don’t be mad because I’m the funny one now in our little gang.  You gave up the title when you gave up the band,” Nick called after him. “And you were never all that funny.”

Getting no reaction, Nick gave up. “Love you, byeeee! See you early tomorrow, don’t forget we have to shoot the promo for next week!”

Fuck. Louis forced himself to keep walking at a normal pace until he was outside where, hands trembling slightly, he could shake a cigarette from his crumpled pack and slide down the wall to sit on the concrete, alone.

 

\---

 

Louis was chafing and fidgeting in his seat, trying to focus on the contestants passing in a blur of generic pop tunes in front of him on the stage.

During a break in the filming, Nick came over and draped himself on the desk in front of him, one hand out to playfully stroke Louis’ knee.

“You’re going to need to pull it together. The live show starts in like an hour, and we’re going to have to pay off the camera guys to pan away from you at all times if you persist on looking like you might be in the throes of severe food poisoning.”

Louis groaned and put a hand over his face.

“What the fuck, this is not a big deal, what’s wrong with me,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Nick, discerning a previously well-hidden note of vulnerability in Louis’ tone, sat up looking concerned, and did not attempt to take the piss as he normally might have.

Studying Louis for a moment, Nick slid to his feet and took hold of his arm.

“Come with me.”

“Nick, I am really not in the mood, just leave it.”

“No, we’re talking about this, Jesus, I don’t even know you like this, but fuck it, come on.”

Louis, exhausted from weeks of low-level anxiety and, as he had never been quite sure where he and Nick stood, slightly curious, offered no further objection and followed Nick from the arena.

Pulling him along the corridor backstage, Nick took an abrupt right into one of the staging areas, where a few people milled about, getting things ready for the live show.

“Get out, OUT, everybody out please, important judges business, we need some privacy!”

Louis watched dispassionately as everyone, some with grudging looks at the two of them, began to file out, grumbling.

“Thanks, you’re lovely people, we don’t say it enough, thank you thank you –“ Nick was sing-songing as he closed the door behind the last of them.

He clapped his hands together, and spun back around.

“Now,” he said firmly, focusing his attention on Louis and walking him backwards into a nearby folding chair, “tell your dear old Uncle Nick what’s got you so bothered.”

Louis shook his head mutely, not yet annoyed, but rather flustered, even self-conscious, at Nick’s unexpected ministrations.

Nick regarded him appraisingly, then sighed and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

“Look, it doesn’t take a genius to sort out some of it. You haven’t seen Harry since you ended the band, right, and things have been strained between you two for years anyway. So it’ll be weird and maybe uncomfortable to see him, and to try to react to him in a casual way on live TV, sure.  But mate, things HAVE been strained for years, everyone knows it, so what’s really different now? This seems like more than your standard, run-of-the-mill nerves.”

He looked at Louis expectantly, and, for some reason, Louis suddenly felt like he might be safe. Here, with Grimmy, and with the feelings that had been rising in him, becoming something quite like panic, for a very long time.

“I…” Louis started. He took a long, steadying breath. “Nick.  Please just…”

Nick waited, his expression open, and all at once Louis knew that he could do it.

 

“ -- I’m gay.”

 

The words themselves came out as little more than a whisper, but, as he said them, as he offered them up outside of himself for the very first time, he felt a great thrumming within him, like a giant rubber band had been released between his ribs and was twanging with sudden relief from being held static for so long.

Before Nick could open his mouth, Louis charged recklessly on, emboldened: “But that’s not even really it, at least not at this very moment – you’re right, it’s about him. It’s him.”

And, without making the conscious decision to do so, Louis was suddenly explaining all about his confusion and desperation over the last, long years, and how it started in his kitchen, with Harry’s wide-open words, or how it started even before that, in everything that occurred between them, or should have. 

He kept some things back – what exactly had been said, the way Harry’s face had looked, the darker details of the things he’d done since then to erase it – but he laid it out for Nick, speaking for nearly ten minutes though most of it was directed at his own hands clenched in his lap, and when he was finished he felt light-headed, and a little bit like he might throw up. But mostly light.

During this deluge, Nick had put a wondering hand to the side of his own head, and was clearly making every effort not to gape, although Louis was not ready to chance even a glance in his direction to assess that.

“Oh pet,” Nick finally offered, after he had recovered himself somewhat, reaching forward to gently touch Louis’ leg. “That is a mess isn’t it. But everything will be fine, it takes quite a lot of strength to face up to who you are, when you’ve kept it back for so long, and to take stock of what brought you to this point…” He looked earnestly up into Louis’ face, then, and that sincerity was what finally allowed Louis to look back at him, directly.

Nick smiled and continued. “I can’t say I’ve been there with the closeting, but I certainly know what it is to question myself and my needs, and what I should show of myself to the outside world.  And obviously I’ve fucked that all up as my goal was to keep everyone thinking I’m a dashing, desperately clever, --“

“Oh no one ever bought that darling,” Louis interjected, allowing the banter to steady him

“—bit of a prick,” finished Nick, scowling playfully at Louis, “but now I’ve gone and wrecked that haven’t I by showing you my dreadfully kind and emotional side.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment.

“Couple o’ sad sacks aren’t we,” Louis said eventually, rubbing both hands over his face before cupping them on either side of his neck and leaning forward as Nick chuckled and tilted his head to the side.

“Nick… what the fuck do I do.”

“Well, first things first. Do you want to be out yet, publicly?”

Louis thought for a bit. “I think… I think I need some time. To think about some things and to talk to my family and – the boys and kind of get my head on straight about it, but, yeah I do eventually, yeah.”

Nick was nodding even before he finished speaking. “That’s good, that's totally smart."

After a beat, he added, "And then of course there’s the other thing. The Harry thing.”

Louis exhaled and shifted, moving his shoulders up and down to shake some invisible discomfort loose.

“Do you love him? As in, are you in love with him?” Nick asked, his tone carefully neutral.

Louis considered the question for a moment, hefting the weight of it and the many ways he could answer. The silence stretched but Nick did not push, an uncharacteristic turn for which Louis was grateful.

“I don’t know,” he replied, finally, truthfully. “I did… I know that I did at one point, for a while, even. But it's been so long, and now..."

"I really don’t know,” he repeated, subdued.

Nick held his tongue between his teeth, thoughtfully, and then stood up, extending his hand to Louis to pull him from his chair.

“Well,” he said, a grin flickering around his eyes and a hint of the familiar mischief in his tone, “maybe you just might be able to find that out tonight, hm? We better leg it, they must be calling for places any minute.”

Shaking his head but allowing himself a laugh all the same, Louis allowed himself to be led out of the room and back out onto the X-Factor set.

Back to where it all began.

 

\---

 

“So, have you decided what you’re going to say?”

It was the last commercial break before the special performance feature, and Nick was leaned way over, nearly off of his own seat, to hiss conspiratorially in Louis’ ear.

Louis opened his mouth to reply and then promptly shut it as someone from makeup trotted up to him with a big powder brush and began tapping it hastily over his forehead and nose.

“Sweatin’ a bit aren’t ya Tommo,” she chuckled, “I saw you shining over here from across the stage, take it easy love.” She gave a few last sweeps with the brush and hurried off.

“Lovely,” Louis remarked, patting his nose gingerly, as Nick laughed – a bit too loudly, given the circumstances – beside him.

Nick gave him a rather fond nudge and persisted. “You’ll have to at least say hello to him after the show. Are you just going to play it cool or what, give me something, this little drama is entirely too thrilling for me to be left out in the cold, I am your confidant after all.”

Louis, still reeling from his recent confession, was not quite sure how exactly it had ended up that Nicholas fucking Grimshaw, of all the people in his life, was the one to whom he had finally voiced his most closely-held personal secrets, but here they were. And Nick had been kind, after all.

“I think I ought to start with an apology. Just kind of let him know I’ve been pretty out of line, you know, toward him, in the past, and see if we can just start from there.  Be friends again maybe. Fucking olive branches and what not I guess,” Louis shrugged, speaking from the corner of his mouth, so that Rita might not overhear.

Nick looked at him impassively for a moment, and then huffed out a dramatic breath.

“BOOORING. Live a little Tomlinson, corner him in the hallway, get frisky, hey, ask him for a SHAG –- - “

Nick’s additional suggestions were abruptly discontinued, as Louis had given a violent yank to his (absurdly patterned) shirt collar, causing him to pitch straight down from his already precarious perch and sprawl on the floor, just as the crew began signaling the countdown until they were back on air.

“Jesus, you’re a grumpy little thing,” Nick laughed as he pulled himself back into his chair and swiveled to the front, adjusting his quiff. “Have it your way with the peace offering. But you’re going to have to give him some kind of signal that you might be looking for more, because I guarantee he has not been idly pining all these years, there are men lined up – “

Louis turned toward him so quickly that his chair tried to continue on in a full circle, to demand from Nick just exactly what he meant by that, but the stage lights dropped and they were live again.

Composing his face, Louis shifted to face forward again, his heart pounding, as the host welcomed the audience back.

“As you all know, our next guest has been absolutely killing it with his first single as a solo artist, fresh off the hiatus-turned-breakup of the global success story, his former band, One Direction.”

The crowd in the arena was wild, louder than they’d been during the other live shows Louis had been a part of by far.

“Which means – shhh, I know – which means, we’ve got ourselves a bit of a reunion in the house tonight!” He opened his arms as the audience erupted.

“That’s right - our very own, quick-witted, sharp-tongued, but secret softie X-Factor judge LOUIS TOMLINSON is a 1D veteran himself.  We think we got the best one, of course,” the host added, winking in Louis’ direction, “But we’re glad to have Harry back on our stage tonight regardless.”

The crowd was loving it, reaching a fever-pitch behind them.

Louis, aware that the camera was slated to pan to the judges for his reaction at this point, forced a broad smile and made a little gesture of thanks toward the host.  He then stood up and faced the audience, put his hand to his heart and gave a little bow before sitting back down.

Nick, he noticed from the corner of his eye, was clapping along just a bit too gleefully for his taste, and Louis made a mental note to kick him in the shins at the next break.

“Alright, okay,” the host was saying, motioning to the crowd to settle, “here it is!  Harry Styles performing his first ever solo single! This is, ‘Other Lights!’”

And then, of course, Harry was there, in front of him, on stage, looking every bit the artist at the top of his game, and somehow every bit both the man he had become and the boy he had been, which, well that wasn’t an easy visual, not for Louis, not now.

And it wasn’t that Louis wasn’t prepared, because he was. He’d had weeks in which to prepare himself – but something still caused him to shiver, to feel a catch in his throat and a weight in his stomach as he watched.

The song itself was decent – quite excellent, really, if he allowed himself to think it – a ballad but with edgier tones to it, and a syncopated style that left Louis both riveted and surprised. But it was the combination of Harry’s physicality and how intimately familiar watching him felt that brought Louis to the brink of undone.

As he moved, as Harry pulled every single person present into his spell, Louis was utterly, unwillingly transfixed.

He could anticipate just when Harry would grab the mic stand, and keen into it, knees dropping, as if he was barely hanging on, and when he would turn and stride, long-legged and powerful, across the stage to hammer a verse at the other side of the audience.

He could feel the building tension as Harry launched into the bridge, the way he carried the emotional heft of the song and the listeners as easily as he carried the tune.

But the final reckoning -- as Harry brought them all to the last crescendo, kneeling at the front of the stage, hair spilling over his shoulders -- was when his face turned just slightly and his eyes found Louis just as the closing notes faded away.

Louis looked back at him, transparent, and it felt for Louis like both rapture and torture at once. And he knew, helplessly, that should the camera choose this moment to cover the judges’ table, his face would betray him instantly.

But, due to luck – or perhaps the crew’s pity if they had spotted him and thought better of it – he was spared that further humiliation; the cameras remained focused on Harry, and then on the audience, as they roared their approval, and then Harry again, as he offered his signature prayer-hands to the arena and a quiet “thank you” into the mic, before waving his way off-stage.

Somehow, in the years of careful separation, Louis had forgotten what it was like to truly watch Harry perform. To hear him and see him; the way the music and the giving of it took him over completely.

He had forgotten also what it was to be with him on stage in that way, to be the focus of Harry’s attention as Louis had been, in the early days at least, even as he poured himself into the performance, and the remembering of it left Louis feeling hot and cold in equal measure.

The rest of the show passed in a blur. Nick—very gallantly, Louis could acknowledge—provided especially flamboyant feedback and commentary to draw attention away from Louis’ lackluster engagement with the remaining contenders.

It was only when they wrapped and the room lights came up and the crew began breaking down the set that Louis at last managed to shake himself free of the buzzing numbness and try to steel himself for seeing and speaking with Harry face to face, at last, in this new reality where Louis was slowly finding himself.

Nick gave a meaningful cough, and then stood and walked around the table to the far right of the stage. Louis pretended to busy himself with his notes as he heard him cry, “Harry, you absolute heathen, that was bloody brilliant!”

Harry had appeared from offstage and laughed as Nick pulled him into a tight hug.

“Alright, Grimmy?” he asked, his voice low and his tone fond.

“God it’s good to see you, look at you little solo artist you, I could cry I’m so proud, what are you doing? How long are you here, surely you’re not fucking off back to L.A. right away, the nasty place, won’t you stay a while?”

Harry laughed again.  “Erm, I’m not sure yet but I’ve got a bit of a break, I’ll probably see a bit of home, catch up with some of the lads, all that.” His eyes flickered toward the table where Louis still sat, listening, all pretenses abandoned.

Realizing himself caught, Louis made a show of standing up and stretching.

Fuck. Okay. No, fuck.

Clenching his fist hard against his thigh, he walked over to the two of them, adopting what he very much hoped was a casual air.

“Hello again, fellow boyband veteran,” Louis said, cocking his hip a tad too jauntily.

Jesus, what the fuck.

Slightly behind Harry’s left shoulder, Nick was grimacing animatedly, confirming—unnecessarily—that Louis was already off to a bad start.

Harry, managing to look only slightly confused, smiled.

“Hi. You good? Looks like a good gig.”

“Yeah, I like it a lot.  Grimmy here has been giving me a bit of a hard time, but I’ve always been one to give as good as I get, so I reckon we’ll manage,” Louis responded, settling surprisingly quickly into easy banter.

Nick chuckled and clapped a hand to each of their shoulders. “Innit?” he grinned. “Well boys I’ve been exceedingly on top of my game tonight and I have worn myself right out, I’m heading home for the evening.”

“Louis,” he added, his eyes twinkling, “Harry fancies a quick tour back through his old stomping grounds, but I’m just not up for it, why don’t you walk him around, nostalgia and all that, yeah?” He squeezed Louis’ shoulder again before dropping his hands and taking a few backwards steps.

“Ring me tomorrow and let’s chat Hazza, lovely show!” he called as he waved, turned and was gone.

Harry looked at Louis and tucked his hands behind his back. “He’s joking, I don’t really need a tour, I’m sure you’ve got loads to do.”

Louis hesitated.  But, though feeling a bit like a man stepping off a cliff into thin air, he recovered quickly and said, “You know, I really wouldn’t mind having a look around with you, I only see certain sides of the place these days. I mean, if you’d like.”

Clearly taken by surprise, Harry opened his mouth once and closed it before giving a little half laugh.

“Um, yeah actually, I’d enjoy that, thank you,” he said, looking at Louis a little wonderingly, but genuinely pleased all the same.

“Alright come on then, you know this awful room well enough, let’s go.”

And, Louis leading the way, they headed backstage, together.

 

\---

 

“Oof,” Harry half-whispered, tripping a bit on the edge of the carpeting at the base of the stairs where Louis was waiting.

He tilted his head to grin up at Louis, who was starting to feel what felt alarmingly like panic rising in his chest, wondering how he had gotten here, alone with Harry Styles.

They had started off by just wandering around backstage for quite a while, peeking into green rooms and sound booths, laughing when they came across a familiar place, and apologizing when they interrupted members of the crew trying to wrap up for the night.

At first, Harry had been offputtingly quiet – Louis would have called it “polite” if the history between them hadn’t rendered such words inauthentic. But as they walked, the quiet had become somehow more companionable. And then somehow they had been chatting -- carefully neutral inquiries about the other’s life, and passing comments about how the show had gone.

But as Louis had relaxed, they had actually begun to really reminisce, raising ghosts from the rooms as they passed.

“Remember how much we terrorized the poor stylists here?” Harry had asked Louis when they stepped into what had been the make-up and hair department. It wasn’t being used much this season, but the long mirror across the back wall brought back instant memories of making faces at each other from their respective chairs, wriggling beneath Lou’s and her assistants’ exasperated hands.

Louis had allowed himself a quick chuckle. “God. When we used to fling that hairbrush back and forth. I think we broke like five or six of those lights up there.”

“They stopped letting us get ready together after a while,” Harry had agreed, shaking his head fondly at the memory.

In another hallway, Harry had suddenly thrown his arm out to stop them and then doubled over with laughter, while Louis waited bemusedly for an explanation.

When he could breathe again, Harry had steered them through a doorway on the right into a practice room, and reminded Louis of an afternoon when the four of them – Harry, Louis, Niall and Zayn – had very nearly reduced Liam to tears during rehearsal.

“Oh my god he was so mad at us,” Harry gasped, wiping his eyes.

Laughing in spite of himself, Louis had added, “and the look on his face when he finished his run and turned to us expecting to hear the next line and we were all piled on top of you, yelling off-pitch – I think Niall may have been beat boxing?”

As Harry leaned up against the wall, holding his side -- “Stop, now I’m crying.” – Louis had taken the opportunity to study him – how he swept his long hair up and over to the side as he laughed, the muscles along his side lengthening beneath his shirt as he raised his arm. How he closed his eyes completely.

Even now, in their relative newness to one another, it had occurred to Louis that Harry was effortlessly himself -- comfortable in a way Louis was not sure he had ever been. A way Louis wasn’t sure was even possible for him. Louis had almost reached out, then, to brush his fingers against Harry’s shirt, maybe, or to feel the air nearer his skin, just to check if this was real – if Harry was. Louis wasn’t sure he himself was quite real at the moment. But his well-trained hand had pulled back on its own, and Harry’s laughter had gradually subsided, and Louis had directed them to the next wing of the building, taking steadying breaths as they went.

 

They had planned to finish up their now rather lengthy tour by checking out the contestant’s waiting area and then heading out, but right as they had reached the stairwell where they were now paused, someone from the night crew had flipped the breaker on the lights, and they had been plunged into unexpected darkness.

Louis had the flashlight on his phone pulled up almost immediately, and was now pointing it at Harry, who had still managed to trip in the brief interim.

Which is how Louis found himself looking down at Harry in an X-factor stairwell, Harry’s self-effacing grin unyielding within that small circle of light. Louis swallowed. Yep. Definitely panic.

“I’m going to guess that they don’t know we’re still in here,” Harry said calmly, as if remarking on the weather. “Hope we’re not locked in.”

Louis felt another spasm of fear at these words. He hadn’t even thought about that. He had fallen into an almost too easy sense of familiarity over the last few hours. What was he actually doing right now, potentially trapped in a creepy catacomb of memories alone with Harry Styles, who was basically a stranger to him at this point? Was this some sort of cruel joke on Nick’s part? Why had Louis thought he should spill the contents of his rather dark and disheveled heart to that complete dick? Why was he suddenly so alliterative? No, focus, for godssake.

But, if he was honest – which was really becoming a thing lately – that wasn’t the root of his panic. Not really. He was realizing, more and more, with every passing moment, that being in love with Harry Styles was not just an uncomfortable part of his past. It was very possibly his present. It was probably his fucking future as well.

So. Should he run, so to speak, for the second time? Should he wade in and see what it might feel like, even if Harry wasn’t still there – even if Harry had left those feelings for good at Louis’ empty kitchen counter all those years ago?

“Louis?” Harry was asking, with the tone of someone who has repeated themselves several times. “Everything okay?”

The smile was still there, albeit a bit more uncertain. Harry raised his eyebrows, then tilted his head and quirked his mouth to the side. It was a gesture of fond impatience that was at once so foreign and so achingly familiar that Louis felt like he had been punched in the gut.

Laughing a bit too loudly, Louis tried to recover himself. “Of course, of course -- come on you clumsy fool, might as well finish the tour before we find out if we’re stuck here.” He paused, and they stood looking at each other for several beats, smiling faintly.

“The bottom of the stairs again…” Harry said softly, shaking his head just barely as he trailed off. “Who would’ve thought.”

Louis felt a flush begin to rise up his neck. “Not the same stairs mate,” he said, trying for cheerful.

Turning, he cried, “Next stop: the loo!” and charged up the stairs, not catching the look that bloomed briefly on Harry’s face before he shook himself and slowly followed Louis up and out.

 

\---

 

“…d’be nice if we could actually see in here,” Louis grumbled as they stepped into the bathroom down the hall from the big, open room where contestants waited to get called downstairs.

“Reckon the light switch is in the usual place you twat,” Harry grinned, reaching around him to feel along the wall. “The security lights should work, this isn’t the apocalypse.”

Louis, too busy trying to pretend Harry’s arm close beside him wasn’t keeping him as frozen in place as a gun to the head, declined to respond.

The dim security lights flickered on, and they both looked up and into the mirror, standing closer than they had realized -- and it was so, so familiar, that Louis drew a sharp inhale, unmoving.

As their eyes met in the glass, Louis felt the air between them change, like a string snapping taut. He still didn’t move.

“Hi,” said Harry.

“That’s my line,” offered Louis, weakly, almost a whisper.

“Oops.”

“--Don’t.”

Louis closed his eyes

Harry pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, looking slightly rebuked, and lowered his arm to his side as Louis, realizing his fingers were trembling, tried to curl them into his palms before they gave him away.

“I’m sorry –” Harry began.

“No,” Louis interjected, “you’re fine it’s all good, just feeling a little overwhelmed. The nostalgia, you know – guess I’ve been putting it off. In general. Um.”

“Okay,” Harry said.

Neither of them spoke. The buzzing of one of the lights in the back corner seemed to swell out over the silence.

Louis willed himself to say something, but his skin felt hot, and he couldn’t seem to think more quickly.

“Sorry, um. No, I guess – I think, ah, nostalgia’s probably the wrong word.”

The light felt too yellow. It was almost threatening. Eyeing Harry in the mirror, Louis plunged forward.

“It’s more this melancholy, maybe, like, I don’t know… this wistful kind of feeling I get when I think about you –er, the band, now or,” Louis drew up short, feeling like he was giving too much away. “—or when I’m around you in this place where there used to be so much – I guess, less, between us…” Fuck, where was he going with this.

“I guess, um, I think this is – an apology?”

Harry waited, his expression suddenly blank.

“Yeah, um. Right. We, obviously, had this friendship from the start and,” -- Louis drew his hands up to rub his face -- “you never dropped the ball on that, but I did. I let my insecurities and whatever else just kind of fuck all that up didn’t I, and I just shut you down every time you offered it back to me after that and for that – for all of it, all the time and all, just all of it. I’m sorry. I’m rubbish at this, but, yeah. I’m sorry.”

A minute passed. And then, as if shifting stone, Harry turned and, like he’d heard his name called from another room, just walked out of the bathroom. The buzzing grew louder, reaching a crescendo in Louis’ ears, and the yellow light seemed to pour in as he closed his eyes, feeling sick.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself.

A moment later, Harry came back through the door, clapped his hands once and rubbed them together, a wide smile hitched into place.

“Sorry, just needed a minute!”

Louis gaped at him, utterly off-guard.

“Apology completely, fully accepted. And if I may add my own – I know I put you in more than one uncomfortable situation, and prioritized my needs and opinions over yours. Let’s make it a blank slate, shall we? Friends?” Harry put his hand out, rather formally.

As Louis reached out to shake it, mouth still slightly open, he couldn’t help but notice that, despite Harry’s bright demeanor, his hand was shaking ever so slightly.

Their hands met and held, both of them looking directly at each other now, location forgotten, and something heavy and invisible seemed to just fall away.

Harry pulled back first, running his hand through his hair.

“Promised Niall I would meet him for drinks and I’m betting I’m more than a little late. Shall we find out if we can escape this joint or what?”

Louis would have laughed if he had felt any trace of composure returning, but instead he simply tucked his lips under, raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“Um. Absolutely.”

Before he moved to follow Harry out the door, he paused to glance around again. This room had seen two young boys first forge a connection that would bend and change but, he realized, never break, and now it had become a place that might just have finally put them back on a path Louis had thought he might never find again.

The yellow light seemed almost cheerful as he left. It felt almost like home.

 

\---

 

Much later, sat at the bar opposite Harry on one side of Niall, Louis tried to take stock of what had happened that evening.

Niall, who was currently delivering an animated retelling of what sounded like a very bad dinner date, had not seemed to notice anything amiss and, if he had been surprised to see them arrive together, had elected not to comment on it.

Friends, Louis thought. A blank slate. Somehow, that didn’t seem to quite capture it – or at least to give enough significance to all that had passed between him and Harry over the years. But he would certainly take what he could get.

His phone buzzed in his lap.

            update?! it’s been hours and I am not a patient man, Tomlinson

Rolling his eyes, Louis gave Nick a curt reply. He supposed he would owe him a lengthier telling – Grimmy had certainly been quite the catalyst for the abrupt turn Louis’ life seemed to be taking at the moment – but he needed time to process.

            out with the lads. ring you tomorrow. cheers x

Louis looked up to find Harry watching him closely. Potentially still subject to Nick’s puppetry, or simply a bit drunk already, Louis gave him a jaunty wink.

“Oh, just fending off the suitors, you know. These one-night stands can’t seem to take a hint.”

Niall choked on his beer as Harry raised an eyebrow, thumping Niall on the back without breaking eye contact.

“Still quite the partier then? Harry queried, his tone rather flat.

Niall, recovering, held out a hand. “Don’t let him fool you mate. I can’t hardly pull this one away from his Netflix account on a Saturday night much less get him out to socialize. Although I’m afraid he has been on quite a few dates with his right ha—”

“LOVELY, Niall, thank you for that,” Louis exclaimed, his hand clapped tightly over Niall’s (stupid, Irish) mouth. “Another round, on you then?”

Laughing, Niall waved his drink at the bartender, who seemed to need no further instruction.

“So, Harry,” Louis continued, aware that his cheeks were flushed a bit darker than the temperature inside warranted. “How’s the LA scene?” He refrained from saying “dating scene,” but just barely. Their newly rekindled friendship was just a few hours old, after all.

Harry, who was possibly trying to cover his amusement, gave a one-shoulder shrug.

“It’s good. Lots of really incredible talent and opportunities to kind of expand into other spheres, like, artistically, you know. I’ve got quite a good group of friends there now, you probably know some of them – Jeff and Glenne and that crowd of course, and some other industry people who haven’t let it consume their souls yet like you tend to see a lot there. And I actually have this yoga group that has led me to some pretty deep connections. The instructor actually taught me how to make---” he broke off and narrowed his eyes. “Niall. What.”

Niall, who looked about to burst with contained mirth, and whose eyebrows had been travelling further and further up his forehead during this speech, looked at Louis, who nodded.

“Organic guacamole,” they said, in unison, before doubling over in laughter and clapping each another on the backs.

Harry looked on with resigned patience. “Thanks, fellas. Very good.”

“I’m sorry, but you really bring it on yourself,” Niall replied, wiping his eyes. “I love you,” he added, seriously, as Harry’s expression darkened.

Charmed – of course – Harry smiled back at him. “I really do, don’t I.”

“You were saying,” Louis interjected, “lots of good stuff going in LA. Good for you, mate. Glad to hear it.”

Harry raised his glass toward Louis. “Cheers. Same for you here, I hope? X-factor is obviously the better for your presence. Honestly the audience lives for your commentary, you’re more worth the watch than most of the actual contestants. Don’t tell Grimmy I said that, I’ll deny it straightaway, and I’m quite convincing.”

Taken aback that Harry had clearly kept up with his work from L.A., Louis opted to take the shot that was sitting on the bar beside him rather than answering.

“That was mine, but okay,” Niall said, tugging playfully on Louis’ earlobe. “A few more then, lads? Great. My close friend the bartender has run off on me, I’ll be back.”

Niall heaved himself off the stool and headed a bit unsteadily around to the other side of the bar, disappearing from view.

For having just spent quite a bit of time alone with Harry, Louis was immediately very aware that it was now just the two of them again. He hoped Harry was at least somewhat close to being as drunk as he was suddenly feeling.

They spent a few minutes remarking on the crowd, which was beginning to swell with the late night-slash-early morning influx of the more dedicated partiers. The house music had grown louder, and they shouted a bit to make themselves heard.

More time and more drinks passed. Niall, apparently acquainted with half of London, had joined a raucous and, frankly, dangerous-looking game of darts in the corner.

When Harry excused himself, much later, to go to the bathroom, Louis realized that the bar, if it wasn’t actually spinning, was certainly blurry around the edges. Somewhere, a more sober voice inside his head was urging him to call it a night, but the rest of him was convinced that he needed to get a few more things out in the open with Harry, and that this was totally the place to do it.

“Niall,” Louis said aloud, swaying slightly in place. “’Should ask Niall.”

He swiveled haphazardly to the side to get up from his stool, only to find his way blocked by a broad chest.

“Oh, sorry, ‘scuse me,” Louis laughed, awkwardly pushing back until he could properly stand. For some reason, it seemed perfectly practical to put his hand on this chest for balance. Louis grinned up at the man. “You know, I am actually quite good at walking, despite present evidence,” he informed him.

The man, looking quite taken with this pronouncement, placed a hand over Louis’s.

“Well. Pleased to be of service, regardless. Although I am not Niall, and it sounded like you were in search of this Niall when I interrupted you. I wish I could say I was sorry.”

It dawned on Louis that he was being flirted with. By a man. And while certainly not his first encounter with such an event, it was the first time he was of a mind to allow himself to appreciate it. He could even reciprocate. Interesting.

Tilting his head, Louis declared, “I appreciate your honesty.”

“So. You walk. Do you also dance?” asked the timely stranger.

“You know, I’m not actually sure. But I am willing to find out.”

When Louis grabbed his hand and led the way out on the floor, it wasn’t that he wasn’t thinking of Harry, or that he was abandoning his decision to talk with him further about some of the deeper conflicts between them and what Louis had recently uncovered about himself, within all that – it wasn’t any of that. And it certainly wasn’t to try to stir up any forgotten jealousy in Harry (despite a tiny, perverse part of him hoping that such a thing was even possible).

It was simply that Louis was emboldened by drink, and by exhaustion from the emotional turmoil of this (very long) day, and, overwhelmingly, by the idea that he was finally exploring something true. Something that he had forbidden himself for a very long time.

 

None of that, however, would make him feel any better in the morning.


End file.
